His Mother
by SlvrSoleAlchmst1
Summary: A Mother's Day fic. Yzak takes a trip to the mall with Ezalia, and despite a few difficulties, he realizes that perhaps she's more than she seems, even worthy of his admiration. Oh, and we finally find out where Yzak gets that little furry coat of his.


_A/N: I've posted it a bit early for Mother's Day, but I couldn't resist. Onward!_

He was in a mall. God damn it, _he was in a mall_. How in seven hells did he ever end up in such a wretched place? The silver-headed boy cursed inwardly as he swore never to visit one again. Then he cursed himself a second time for being selfish.

It _was_ Mother's Day, after all. The least he could do was humor Ezalia Joule by accompanying her on a mother-and-son shopping trip. He sighed quietly, reviewing the facts from the day before.

He'd been on the Vesalius. He'd received notification that he had the next two consecutive days off, one of which happened to be Mother's Day. The next thing he'd known, his mother had contacted him and asked if he'd like to spend the day with her. As if he could think of refusing! They were in a war, and it was miracle enough that they'd ended up with the same free blocks. Of course, he suspected that Ezalia herself had arranged for it, but that wasn't the point.

Besides, it wasn't as if Yzak _hated_ being with his mother. Quite the contrary. Most times he found that she was the only person other than Dearka who fully understood him. And seeing as she was of the female gender, that was quite an accomplishment as far as he was concerned. With a resolute nod to himself, he decided that he might as well make the best of his dastardly situation.

"Yzak?" Ezalia probed, searching his icy eyes through the plastic of her dark sunglasses, "I asked if you'd like to go into this store next."

He blinked, scanning the flashing sign that said _Lennon Dress Outlet_. Then he shrugged. "I'll go wherever you'd like, Mother," he submitted.

"Good, because I need a dress for the ZAFT commemoration dinner this next Friday evening."

The Duel pilot flinched visibly. "Mother, please," he groaned. "Can't you keep from mentioning the military while we're off duty?"

She smiled, and Yzak couldn't help but notice her youthful beauty. Anyone passing by would surely think they were siblings.

"I know," she reassured him. "That's why I'm in these sunglasses. The war has reached a dangerous level, and Chairman Zala _did_ warn all council members to stay vigilant while in public. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

The pale Coordinator rolled his eyes, but was sure not to let the elder woman catch him at it.

"Speaking of the Zalas," she began again absently, sifting through a rack of long, dark dresses until she picked up a size three, "How are you getting along with Athrun these days?"

He could tell she wasn't really listening for his response, so he didn't bother to hide his immediate grimace as she spoke the name of the hated Aegis pilot. "He's been named the commander of our team," he told her, careful to keep the sarcasm from his voice lest she pick up on it.

"Yes, I heard about that. Any ideas as to why Le Creuset didn't give _you_ the position?"

The inquiry was a righteous stab to his pride. "I have no idea," he gritted, forcing himself to keep calm under the circumstances. To his surprise, his mother chuckled.

"I'm sorry, but I had to ask. I hope you're having better luck against him in those chess matches, at least. Chess is a good exercise for the brain…"

"_MOTHER!_"

She had moved on to the next set of racks. "All right, all right. But Yzak," she started, and the embarrassed boy looked up to meet her gaze, "To become a winner, one must first learn how to lose with grace and learn from his mistakes."

Yzak threw her an evil look and proceeded to charge behind a tall row of silken skirts, milling about in his attempt to hide the sorry blush that crept to his pale cheeks in his fury. He strove to retain the yowl of rage that teetered on the verge of erupting. Even when they were miles apart, Athrun Zala rose to thwart him, in front of his own mother, no less.

"Yzak?"

He quickly composed himself and reemerged from his hiding place, ducking around a hasty employee as he did so. Ezalia had removed her sunglasses and stood watching him intently, a slight frown on her pretty face.

"Which color do you like better?" she asked him, motioning to the two selections in her hands. One was a long, swank gown of a deep forest green, the other a sultry black one of a shorter cut.

"How am I supposed to know?" the young Coordinator snapped before he could stop himself. At once he regretted his outburst.

Luckily, his explosion didn't seem to register. Ezalia had already turned back to the endless rows of hangers and begun to thumb through them.

"If your father was here," she mused aloud, "He'd have liked the green one…"

"I'm not Father," Yzak muttered, glad the elder woman couldn't hear his bitter reply. He sincerely wished he were back on the Vesalius, even if it meant spending the day in the rec room with a rowdy Dearka.

"How _is_ that Elsman boy, anyway?" Ezalia suddenly asked as if reading his mind, and the startled Coordinator had to choke back a cry.

"H-he's fine," he responded once he'd regained his composure. "Although that stupid freeloader does nothing but sit on his lazy behind and watch everyone else do the work." At least he didn't mind talking about the impertinent blonde. With a mindless shrug to accompany his statement, the pale youth concluded he had nothing else worth saying anyway.

"So you two get along well, then," she translated, handing him a group of items for him to carry. "I'm glad you've found someone to relate to. Even though war seems to shorten the time allotted to those types of relationships, you've found someone to keep you company."

The silver-headed boy looked aghast. "Mother, please! You make it sound like he and I are lovers!"

Her laugh was a pleasant sound among the ring of cash registers and the dull music that warbled in the background. "Of course I didn't mean it like that. You know I don't approve of that boy anyway," she reminded him with a wrinkle of her soft brow. "He's far too outspoken and crude."

"What would you know of him?" Yzak immediately jumped to his best friend's defense, but soon abandoned the hopeless endeavor. Somehow, Ezalia Joule always seemed to know everything that went on in the PLANTs, and though she wasn't a gossip like most women, she was quick to decide whom she did and did not like. For a moment the pale boy felt like grinning, grateful he wasn't on his mother's bad side. At least he knew where he'd acquired his distinctive temper.

"I'm curious, however, as to whether you're thinking about settling down with someone," she exclaimed as she reached for a white dress that was too high for her limited reach.

Yzak took it down for her, and then her words registered. "You want me to get betrothed to some female?" he demanded, his voice rising an octave in his incredulity. He'd never do it. Never. It was too soon, and getting married meant tying himself down to a _girl_ for the rest of his life. He'd shoot himself before he'd allow any such fate to befall him that easily.

"Why not? You know the situation we're in as the inheritors of a new race," she lectured, and at that moment Yzak wanted to hit her.

"You're going to say it's my duty," he sneered, "My privilege as a Coordinator to pass on my superior genes." The words tasted sour in his mouth, and he felt the bile rising to the back of his throat.

"Don't take that tone with me," she warned him harshly. "You have an obligation as part of the Coordinator race to see to it that you _do_ settle down, whether it's now or in a year or two. Athrun is already engaged to Lacus Clyne. You ought to be able to find someone as well, maybe even someone that surpasses her."

The silver-headed boy was nauseated. "I'm not talking about it with you," he spat, knowing full well that she'd mentioned the Zala boy to get him riled. "How many more dresses do you think you can carry? Find a dressing room already!" As if his day hadn't reached its worst peak at that precise moment, Yzak nearly tripped in horror as a large group of teenaged girls sauntered into the store, giggling and squealing like a mad group of banshees.

"This is a popular store for girls your age," Ezalia enlightened him, following his disgusted gaze as he watched them with distaste.

He snorted. "Then why are you here?"

"You should be grateful I can still wear this type of thing," she said curtly, demonstrating by holding up a maroon dress with etched roses. "That I still look this good at my age shows high prospects for you. You inherited almost all my physical traits, you know." With that she leaned forward to ruffle his fine, silver hair.

Yzak struggled to keep from swatting her hand away. "Mother, don't."

"When was the last time you washed it?" she tisked at him, finally pulling her fingers away. "And the ends are split. Such pretty hair deserves better care, Yzak. I thought I taught you that."

The pale Duel pilot clenched his teeth. "I don't exactly have time to set myself up a beauty parlor in my quarters, Mother," he growled, irritated by her determination to focus on such minute details. "I'm fighting a war, not impressing the masses. You're in the same boat as me." He folded his arms and followed her as she trekked across the store to the dressing area.

Her heels clicked musically as they walked, and for a moment the young Coordinator thought he caught a regretful haze pass over her clear features. He couldn't be sure. The next moment, her blue eyes sparked with a fire that he recognized immediately as her determined will and strength of character, characteristics she usually reserved for her motivational speeches on the battlefield.

"When this war reaches a swift end," she articulated, her voice dipping to a low pitch that illustrated her outward ferocity, "And when we finally defeat those unforgivable Naturals, perhaps we'll have more time to think about the less important aspects of life." In that instant Yzak noticed the few distinct lines on her face, the weary quality that coated her spirit and hid just out of sight of the normal passerby. "It's only in times like these when we realize how special those less important memories can be."

The pale Coordinator lowered his gaze, reflecting on the words that weighed like lead in his stomach. For the first time that day, he found himself agreeing with her. He couldn't count the number of times he'd wished he could revisit his days of playing in the front yard, the first time he'd eaten an ice cream cone, or even his carefree years at the ZAFT military academy. He remained silent as Ezalia headed into the dressing room and motioned for him to wait outside.

The mood of melancholy didn't last long, however, because shortly after, his mother emerged with her first dress for his judgment. He stiffened, annoyed. He hadn't known he was to participate in _this_ aspect of the shopping trip as well. Now he knew why most girls complained that their boyfriends wouldn't go shopping with them. Who could blame the countless number of tortured males for refusing, determining not to watch as the females twirled, idled, and admired to finally decide that they hated the garment? And now, he had been sucked into the same maelstrom of women's clothing.

Ezalia moved to stand before him. Rather than drowning him in a myriad of useless information, however, she simply waited for her son to get a decent look at the ensemble.

Yzak couldn't tell if she had bothered to examine the dress herself first, or if she was just waiting for his opinion. If it was his opinion she was seeking, the least he could do on Mother's Day was to give it truthfully.

"Too sleazy," he stated coolly, noting the way the back dipped extra low and the slit on the side revealed far too much leg. At first her eyes widened, and then she retreated back into the dressing room without a word.

Yzak pondered his quick response. Perhaps it wasn't what she'd wanted from him. What was he _supposed_ to say? She hadn't given him any indication as to whether she'd liked it herself, and wasn't he supposed to tell the truth to save her from the humiliation of wearing a dress that looked hideous? Damn the mall and shopping to the darkest pits of hell! He was a _guy_. Since when was it up to him to make these kinds of decisions? He'd rather spend his time making decisions about how to throttle the Strike pilot.

At that point the young Coordinator paused, wondering again if he was being too selfish. Perhaps it couldn't hurt to say something nice, something that would make his mother feel the trip was worth it. All right, so he did not particularly feel that it wasworth anything, but he felt he owed it to her, as aggravating as their conversation had been so far. She was the only one who had always been there for him, after all. With a low grunt, he supposed that a little appreciation could go a long way.

His mother cleared her throat, and he jerked his head up with a start. This time he was careful to scan the outfit consciously. She had chosen a simple gown of a navy blue, a color he had found he often ended up wearing as well. It complemented her complexion and brightened her eyes, and with a twinge of curiosity, he wondered if _he_ looked that attractive in shades of the same hue. It was flattering, and Ezalia was classy – regal even – in its sleek lines and plain cut.

"I like it," Yzak admitted in defeat, after trying desperately to find something he disliked and failing.

"Is that so?" she mused, checking herself once in the mirror. "Well then…" Without warning she stopped, gazing at the rack over his shoulder. "What's that?"

He turned to study the rows of garments she had pointed to. "What, these?" He lifted free one of the pieces she'd been mesmerized by.

"Oh, it's a little coat," she said, raising an eyebrow as he handed one to her. "Pity it doesn't match any of the dresses I've picked up, or I might consider trying it on." Then she fixed her blue stare on him as if a sudden thought had struck her. "Come here."

His face contorted into one of disapproval. "You're joking," he cried, and she stepped up to him when he refused to move. "Get that thing out of my sight."

She frowned. "Nonsense. You can't really tell that it's meant for a woman," she went on, "And with your slim figure, I'm sure you'd look more than presentable."

His features twisted next into a look of revulsion. "Like hell I'll try on a…" But he stopped. The group of girls from earlier had congregated not three rows of racks away from them, and they were watching him with amused smiles on their painted lips.

"You're sure you like this dress?" Ezalia asked again, and for a moment the silver-haired boy was distracted.

"I already said so, didn't I?" With a dry snigger, he concluded it was time he had some fun of his own. He seized the coat from his mother and made for the wall of mirrors just inside the dressing room door, as the elder woman headed back for her tiny changing stall. Yzak wondered vaguely if she would even try on her alternate choices, or if his approval was the only thing she'd been looking for.

He caught sight of himself in the full mirror, noting with pleasure the way his silken hair fluttered about his brow. There was no doubt he was naturally attractive, and he had never been vain about his looks, yet he still failed to see how the chosen coat could do anything for his appearance.

With a scornful huff, he glared down at the item in his hand. It was made of a very soft material, padded just slightly at the shoulders and lined with plush fur at the wrists, waist, and neckline. As for its color, he hadn't the faintest idea whether it was simply a dark blue or a deep shade of violet. Squinting at it in the dim light, he decided that it was indeed violet, and rather feminine in cut as well.

He hesitated only a moment before drawing it on over his shirt with a shiver. Disgusting. Then he buttoned it slowly, icy eyes locked on his reflection as he shifted. With a snicker he admired the finished product, determining that it did indeed suit him. His slender waistline was accentuated in a very flattering manner, and the color worked wonders for bringing out the glow in his exotic eyes. He could have sworn his pale hair had even taken on a hint of the unearthly purple shade.

The devious ZAFT soldier stepped boldly out of the mirrored alcove and into the store. "It's too dark in there to see it properly, Mother," he called, making sure to raise his voice to a level that could be heard by the girls that stood grouped a short distance away, "I'm going to find another mirror outside." Oh, this was going to be too much fun. He could hardly stand it.

He watched from the corner of his eye as the mass of females trailed after him, trying unsuccessfully to remain inconspicuous. The Duel pilot snickered silently to himself, eyes alight with cruel glee. Even if he had no current interest in women, and most certainly none in the flock of giddy fools that followed him, he might as well test what powers of seduction he possessed.

He located a mirror, and within moments, he found his own hazy reflection surrounded by those of the girls who were watching. He rolled his eyes, sure that none of them would notice. It was pathetic and sickening, the way they were fawning over him as if he were a kitten purring for their attention. But at the moment, he was highly amused.

The pale youth struck a low-key, idle pose, intent on keeping it casual until he was convinced they would react as he'd expected. Apparently he'd anticipated correctly, for the young woman at the register looked up sharply upon hearing the high-pitched squeals that echoed over the din and racket of the rest of the shoppers. Hah, what a way to pass the time. If only Dearka and the others could see him now. No doubt he'd never live it down. Then again, his ordinary, subtle movements at the mirror as he feigned interest in his image were worth the pain and risk, if only to see the way the group of teenaged females made petty fools of themselves in their excitement. Of course, none of the anxious employees suspected that _he_ was the cause of the chaos.

He waited a moment longer, enjoying his position in the limelight, blasphemous as it seemed. With a touch of whatever flair he could muster, he further antagonized them by striking a more complicated pose. Then he wondered how professional models did it, managing to keep their bodies looking natural when twisting in such odd directions. He checked his position in the mirror. It _did_ look natural, but it felt quite the opposite. He'd had enough fooling around. Ezalia was most likely awaiting his return.

With a final burst of his urge for mind games, he turned around to face the giggling group and fixed them with a smoldering stare that was neither come-hither nor repellent, but somewhere in between with a sense of compelling mystery. Then he realized that one of them had been faithfully snapping pictures with her camera phone throughout his random escapade. He swore under his breath and cursed his carelessness. At least he'd never see them again.

"Yzak." He heard his mother call from the direction of the dressing room, and he headed back without another glance to his admirers. No more games. The provocative coat had been shed by the time he reached her.

"Did you like it?" she asked, upon the realization that he'd already removed it.

"It was a disaster," he proclaimed, knowing full well that he was lying through his teeth and she could probably tell. As a matter of fact, the coat itself had not been _that_ terribly disturbing. Yet still, nothing changed the fact that it would most likely look better adorning Ezalia's fair figure than his.

"Did you choose a dress for the dinner?" he questioned in order to sidetrack her, and to his great relief he succeeded.

"The blue one you liked," she announced, holding it up for him to see.

"It's pretty."

His mother looked at him strangely. "Pretty? That's a far cry from anything I'd usually hear out of your mouth, Yzak. Thank you." The elder woman look genuinely baffled at his unguarded reply.

His temper hit again with a vengeance. "What, I'm not allowed to say that to my own mother?" He defended himself vehemently, annoyed that she found his kind gesture odd. He'd tried hard to complement her that time, he really had. It was just like Ezalia to go making a carnival out of it. He smirked. She could be sure that he'd never say anything of the sort again.

"I think it's about time we return to our military duties, don't you think?" She posed the rhetorical question aloud as they made their way to the cash registers.

At once Yzak felt a dash of something in the pit of his stomach, and with mild curiosity he wondered what it was. Regret, or maybe even disappointment? Impossible. He dismissed it with a small shake of his head. Their trip would be over, that was all. Nothing more. He would return to being a soldier of ZAFT, loyal to the bitter end, and she a mighty figurehead at the top of the PLANT Supreme Council. They hadn't the time to be mother and son anymore, not now in their world of war and bloodshed. Not again for quite some time.

Ezalia Joule placed her chosen dress neatly on the countertop where the cashier rang it up. "You know," the blue-eyed woman said, smiling at him from behind her newly donned sunglasses, "I only bought that dress because you said you didn't mind it."

The Duel pilot blinked. "You could have worn whatever you wanted to the commemoration dinner," he stated in confusion, wondering why on earth his mother had decided to bestow him with that bit of information just then.

"I already have a dress for the dinner," she told him coolly, fishing the correct amount of bills from her purse with ease.

"Ex_cuse_ me?" Yzak burst, before he could remember to monitor his tone. "Then why did we have to come here?" He silently mourned the loss of the day in the rec room he might have had.

"And that as well?" The cashier motioned to the violet coat, and it was with enormous dismay that Yzak realized he still held it in his hand.

Ezalia cut in before he could open his mouth to deny anything. "Yes, that as well," she confirmed, counting out the extra bills as the woman behind the counter added it to a separate bag next to the navy dress.

"Mother!"

"Take it as compensation for making you spend the day with me," his mother insisted, handing him the bag to carry once the transaction was complete. "I'm sorry for dictating the way you spent your day off. You get so little time to yourself. I'm sure you think I was being selfish."

No indeed, the silver-haired youth thought to himself, recalling the one suggestion that had been plaguing him all day long. He couldn't possibly count the number of times he'd believed _himself_ to have been selfish. And had she forgotten it was Mother's Day? He saw no logical reason why she ought to have felt guilty for wanting to spend time with him.

"I don't mind," the pale boy said, straining against her slightly as she reached over to give him a light kiss on the cheek.

He let her linger there. He felt safe, wanted, _loved_ even, when he was with his mother. He could not bring to mind a single person who had her character, her elegance, or her passion. He supposed that he must have admired her, for the warm feeling he felt was surely something of that sort. No other woman had ever deserved his admiration more, when he truly considered it.

"I have a shuttle to escort me back to the PLANTs," she said, removing her arm from about his waist and planting a last, chaste kiss on his cheek. "I promise you, this terrible war will come to an end soon. Until then, try not to get hurt again." She traced his scar with a stray finger.

"Yes, Mother."

He watched as she strode off through the crowded mall, making her way to where her shuttle waited on the lower level. He sighed and turned his back, setting out for the opposite end of the mall where his own shuttle was waiting to carry him home to the Vesalius, back to a life of drill and routine and discipline.

But maybe somewhere there was a glimmer of hope. Maybe somewhere, the light that was their future shined brightly, ready to fill their lives with freedom and peace. Then moments like those spent with Ezalia wouldn't be so far apart. He could relax again. They all could. But until then, all he had was a precious few hours to remember that fleeting period of happiness that had so quickly melded back into his military lifestyle. That moment where in a rare fit of luck, he'd heard his mother's voice not over the radio waves, but from her spot at his side.

Though he complained, though he fought and denied and strove to find the negative, he would have gladly spent another day with his mother.

_A/N: Bwaha, Yzak is such a mamma's boy. But I love it. I'm glad I thought up the idea for this Mother's Day fic, because to tell the truth I've always wanted an excuse to expand on his relationship with Ezalia. It gives me a chance to show his softer side, where for once he isn't screaming and putting up walls. He still keeps his malicious charm, though, teasing those girls for his own amusement… _

_And this fic was obviously inspired in part by that picture of him in the coat I described. If you haven't seen it, you ought to go locate it. I figured it looked like something out of Ezalia's wardrobe anyhow, so I found a way to work it in. I hope everyone enjoyed this!_


End file.
